


The Count And The Doctor

by Ozuzo



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Amputation, Blood and Injury, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Fanart, Illustrations, Jealousy, M/M, No Apprentice, Nursing, Reunion, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29589804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozuzo/pseuds/Ozuzo
Summary: A capricious Count and a cheeky doctor form an unlikely bond at war. Years come to pass and they go separate ways until a strange disease brings them back together. They undergo many vicissitudes, but their soft spot for one another remains the same. Will they overcome the obstacles of death, deception and the uncertainty of their feelings?
Relationships: Julian Devorak/Lucio (The Arcana)
Kudos: 12





	1. Vision Of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Please, mind the tags! There are some heavy themes as the fic advances (which I'll warn about in the notes). 
> 
> I will also be adding art, so stay tuned for that! Enjoy!

Time seemed to slow down until it stopped entirely the first time Julian saw Lucio. His name had been on everybody’s mouth ever since he had set foot in the camp earlier that day, but he did not expect the man to live up to the reverence. 

He emerged from the field like a vision of gold and red; riding a tall horse, regal and seemingly effortless. Dark blood swathed his skin and clothes, but there was a triumphant smile on his face. Smoked paint framed his intense stare, making his cheekbones appear the more sharp. He dismounted the animal in one smooth motion, feet rattling and originating an airy cloud of sand. 

An eager crowd had formed around him before the dust even sat. Julian was somehow pulled in, his lips coming apart and his eyes widening in overcome silence. Lucio’s hand ran through his hair to slick it back as he thoughtlessly pretended to listen to his underlings; his head lifted slightly, enough to expose a neck beaded in sweat. Julian couldn’t help noticing how his muscles compressed under the pressure of the leather choker he was wearing, he gulped. When he looked up, the blond’s eyes were on him, curiosity replacing his disinterest on a whim. He had most definitely—no, unequivocally—been caught ogling him.

"Are you done staring?" he chuckled. 

"I, ah—That is, uhm, I’m… _No._ I mean, you’re—You _must_ be the condottiero," he finally sputtered—mortified—face brightly flushed.

"Heard about me, huh." Julian looked blankly at him. "Then you must be the new kid. The doctor."

"The one and only. Well, not the one… Or the only, for that matter. But a doctor nonetheless?" He couldn’t feel any more birdbrained, so he offered his best show-stopping grin to try and save face, Lucio seemed entertained enough. "Shouldn’t that be taken care of, the—uh—bleeding?" The company erupted into laughter, much to his dismay.

"Oh boy, but that’s not _his_ blood!"

"I did scratch my elbow, I believe," he shrugged, perfect teeth showing through his curved lips. "Mind taking a look, doctor?" he added suggestively, with no hint of abashment in his voice. Julian felt the heat in his face rising. 

"N-not at all, sir," he answered as he falteringly tucked a strand of his long auburn hair behind his ear. 

A couple of people in the crowd were quick to whistle and slap Julian's back. Hard. Luckily for him, the crew decided to stop the teasing and finally scattered around the camp; some settling down around the fire that had just been lit, others going into their tents to rest. Part of the troops hadn’t yet made it back to the base.

Lucio led the way with determined strides, Julian following close behind with ease. They passed the hospital and ventured deeper; the captain’s remarkably bigger tent came into view. The redhead felt some kind of anticipation building at the pit of his stomach, but he tried his hardest to ignore it. 

"How _incredibly_ rude of me, I did not catch your name." The blond turned.

"It’s Julian Devorak, sir."

"Devorak. Doctor Devorak…" he pondered out loud. " _Jules_ , hm? Call me Lucio," he concluded with finalty. Julian was positively puzzled: not only had the highest ranking mercenary just commanded him to drop all formalities with him after mere minutes of being aware of each other, but he had also casually given him a pet name. One no one had ever used before, at that.

"Ah, yes. Sir…" he said as he pulled and held the curtain for him. "Lucio," he corrected himself. "After you."

He took in his surroundings as they stepped in; the tent was certainly far more ostentatious and cozy than any of the others he’d been in. It was fittingly carpeted and delicate tapestries hung from the walls to obscure the light. A heavy looking bendable iron bed with impossibly intense red bedding presided over the room; it was flanked by a sturdy armchair with furs and a chest, on top of which there were an assortment of leather books, an oil lamp, an ink quill and a tray of fruit, among other items. 

A large wooden wash tub filled with clear water stood in the furthest corner, ringed by linen for privacy. A set consisting of a copper pitcher, a smaller bucket and cotton towels laid beside it tidily. Julian was awed that such a thing existed in a place like that. A display of power and wealth that was as pretentious as it was effective. 

Lucio said nothing as the ginger looked around in interest, instead letting himself slump on the armchair; the exhaustion from battle subtly becoming apparent. 

"Oh! Excuse my manners, I didn't mean to nose around." Julian held his hands up apologetically. "This is just… impressive. Where did you say it hurts?" 

"Elbow," he said as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them aside. Julian gave him some space while he got comfortable. Lucio unfastened the belt that held his pauldron in place and hissed at a pain he hadn't realized he felt until that exact moment. 

"I'd say you dislocated your shoulder," Julian observed. "Might have to ask you to undress. To take a look, if I may."

The blond did not reply, but he undid the several bands at his waist with a mischievous smile and he deliberately locked eyes with Julian as he disposed of the choker and loosened his _already_ loose ensemble. 

"Do what you need to do." 

Julian cleared his throat as if he was under trial. He stepped closer and carefully helped set Lucio's arm free from his waistcoat and bishop sleeve. The body under it was unsurprising, all things considered; albeit evidently muscular, he was more on the slender side. His collar bones poked against the surface of his pale skin charmingly and his body considerably shrinked at his waist. Multiple faded scars decorated his skin as a reminder of past bloodsheds and the sweat made his torso and face appear dewy. He was undeniably attractive. 

Lucio straightened his back to allow Julian to completely take off his shirt and his face came agonizingly close to his neck. He exhaled softly—causing the doctor to shudder—before settling back with a pretty eloquent smirk. He was well aware of his charms, that much was clear. 

As a general rule, Julian would be a nervous wreck in the presence of any individual that was easy enough on the eye—especially if they were half naked and took a liking to his person, as was clearly the case—but he luckily had become too engrossed with the examination to make a fool of himself. 

"Let's see here…" He palpated Lucio's shoulder, assessing damage with narrowed eyes. Lucio winced when he dug a little deeper, apparently forgetting his seduction scheme. "Ah, was I too harsh? I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Go on." 

He slid two fingers along his upper arm and angled it to inspect his elbow. Sure enough there were a few superficial scrapes there, but he deemed those unimportant and went back to his shoulder blade. 

"I'm afraid I'll have to put it back," Julian said as he looked into Lucio's ridiculously clear eyes. 

"It's not broken, is it?" He raised an eyebrow concernedly. 

"No. Stand up, please." The other complied. "Release your muscles, it might fall back into place on its own. It's worth the try." He smiled encouragingly. Lucio dropped his shoulders stiffly, but the tension didn't completely go away; he was visibly ruffled for not being able to do as he was told, which obviously didn't contribute in the slightest to his relaxation. 

"Think you'll need to give me a hand with that, doctor," he finally admitted, reluctantly. 

A sly grin attempted to escape him when Julian's warm hand was back on his skin, but the pain held it back. 

"Take a deep breath," he said as he tentatively molded his hands over the hardened area. "Drop your head back. Let me know if it hurts." He squeezed his fingers so gently that Lucio let out a relieved sigh. Julian laughed. "Feels good? You legionnaires sure are a reckless bunch. You don’t care for yourselves until your bodies need to be sewn together!"

"Hah. We have other concerns in the battlefield," he debated.

"I find myself at odds with that statement, captain. After all you _do_ look after your swords, don’t you? A soldier’s body, a doctor’s hand… Aren’t they also tools for their craft, deserving of maintenance?" Rather than starting an argument, Julian’s intent was to distract him from the fingers that were now gliding up his back muscles towards his neck.

"Craft? I don’t suppose many doctors see war as a craft." He took the bait.

"Oh, we categorically don’t. Taking a life is not something a healer is at peace with. Not by nature."

"Then enlighten me, Jules, why are _you_ here?" He keenly searched his eyes, no offense taken.

"Isn’t it obvious? Where there is a patient… there is a doctor."

"As simple as that?" he chortled.

"As simple as that," he echoed. "Why are you here, then?"

"Me?" Lucio stopped to think. "It’s thrilling… The danger." He smirked asymmetrically. Light glinted off his eye as if agreeing.

"Oh, I can get behind that. I like to get rowdy myself sometimes," Julian conceded. 

"You’re kidding!"

"Absolutely not! But that’s a tale for another time. Forward. Your head."

"I have to admit you didn’t strike me as the wild kind, but there’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there? It’s intriguing, I like that in a man." Julian was stricken by Lucio’s raw confidence, yet _again_. Boiling blood attempted to seize control of his whole being.

"Oh," he managed to say. Lucio breezily laughed in response.

Julian's fingertips pushed onto his spine in deep circles and he pressed the back of his head, allowing his own weight to lower it for him. Lucio seemed to be enjoying himself, judging by how lax his posture and how soft his breath had become. After a while, his muscles stretched with a cracking sound, loosened, then his joint finally gave back and returned to its natural position. Lucio groaned in a way that verged on the improper, easing his body into Julian’s hands. His eyes broadened as much as the other’s at the sound, rosy tinting his cheeks. The doctor almost forgot how to breathe himself.

"… You're _very_ welcome," he offered a self-assured smirk as he recovered from the shock.

"Cocky," Lucio remarked under his breath.

"What can I say? There’s more to me than meets the eye," he said cheekily.

"Oh, and I’d love to find out _all_ about _that_ ," he returned without blinking. He took a step towards the doctor, eyes half lidded.

The anticipation Julian had felt earlier came back, only a thousand times stronger, making his stomach turn. Just as Lucio's finger made it to his jawline… a commotion started outside. The troops were back. They both clicked their tongues in disappointment at the same time, that—most likely—meant work. 

"Gather the doctors!" someone shouted outside. "There are too many injured and too little hands to carry them in!" 

Julian's feet moved before his mind even processed anything, he allowed himself to look back to Lucio when he was already at the exit. 

"I'm needed. Don't push your arm?" 

Dusk was falling rapidly among the chaos. Medics and soldiers alike fumbled with bodies on stretchers or horses. There were so many of them that they had to be dropped at the entrance of the hospital until some space was cleared. Wails and shouting could be heard throughout the camp, but he couldn't make out much of it over the drumming of his own heart. He had never seen so much destruction—no amount of stories could have prepared him for it, anyway—but he made himself useful without a word still.

In an endless rush of adrenaline he tended to wounds, stitched people together and assisted the more experienced doctors in whatever they demanded.

By the time things had calmed down, he was carrying piles of the dead outside in a wheelbarrow. Its wheel got stuck every two steps and Julian had to unclog it—digging his hands on the mud—to keep going. The transport was rather low for his height, so he had to abnormally bend his back. It was painful, he was exhausted and there was no part of him that wasn't stained in blood or sweat, but he was most concerned about the increasing feeling of guilt that stabbed at his guts. Back at home he had never found himself in that position: he had just been forced to _prioritize_ some human lives over others, he was accountable for those who had survived… as much as for those that now laid inert in his hold. 

He lifted his sight off the ground without looking anywhere in particular and found the only eyes that were familiar to him therein. The condottiero was surrounded by his party, his voice reached him steady but unclear over the distance that separated them. He saw him tilt his head in his direction, but he didn’t wait to discover what he meant by it. He had to keep pushing, keep working.

Everything that followed happened in a fog. He was suddenly standing next to the fire, a bowl of greasy stew in his hands. He was no orderlier than before, the night had come about. Someone moved so that he could take a seat next to Lucio, which he didn't question. He was still talking. Or just talking, Julian didn't know how much time had passed. 

"… Was lost. Tonight we eat because we live to see another day and we drink in place of those who won’t. In their honor. Don’t allow despair to cloud your judgement, instead let the rage move you in the battles to come! What was plundered, we’ll take back a thousandfold! **We'll show those** **_scoundrels_ ** **what we're made of!** "

His delivery was flawless, unswerving. It prompted a soft but trusting ovation. Julian saw that he represented the strength that the company presently lacked, that he impelled them forward solely with his own resolution and will. He also saw how the fire lit faces looked up to him, expecting a wisdom that a person of his young age shouldn’t embody.

"To the buried! To our new doctor! To victory!" he saluted, giving Julian an acknowledging side eye. Everyone cheered and drank, chatter rupturing the cackling sound of wood. Julian lifted his bowl in the air with a tired smile and sat back to eat in silence.

"Cat got your tongue, kiddo?" a man said mockingly.

"His name’s Julian. Cut him some slack, will you? It’s his first day," Lucio warned lowly. The other man was taken aback momentarily, it was dawning on Julian that Lucio was not usually as soft-hearted with the others as he was—and had been—with him. 

"Aye, aye…" he subdued. "One for the books, your first day, eh? Julian. I’ll remember your name. For how lanky you look you sure are strong," he offered, kinder this time. "Saw you back there," he pointed at the hospital with his head. 

"Ah, it comes with the trade, I guess?" Julian finally spoke.

"It’s a little rough out here, but you’ll get used to it in no time," said a woman knowingly, her big hand landed on Julian’s back in what he supposed was a reassuring gesture. "You sleep the best after a day of hard work! Ain’t it so, captain?"

"You would know better. I can hear your snores from a mile away every night, you _disgusting_ pig," he rolled his eyes. "Hope you’re a heavy sleeper, Jules."

"I’m sure I’ll manage," he grinned.

"To be fair, you look like you could fall asleep right where you stand," he agreed. 

"By the way, how's your arm?"

"I'm not complaining," Lucio smiled. 

The conversation died out eventually and before Julian knew it, he was laying in bed. The hefty breaths and shifting of the shared tent cradled him to sleep before he could think about everything—or anything—that had happened that day. He could already tell that his time at the camp would be nothing short of interesting.


	2. Ominous Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes an explicit description of an amputation, watch out for that!

Things became easier as the days passed, Julian had found a rhythm he could keep up with; he easily learned from his surroundings and intermingled with his peers. His natural dramaturgic tendencies became apparent to everyone that listened and he earned a well deserved spot as a recounter of stories. 

Every day he watched surgeries, took notes that only he could read, ran errands that did and didn’t have anything to do with his job and cared for the sick and the bored. Every night he drank and danced and laughed, he told tales of days that were long past, hoping to bring some joy to the tired soldiers.

He and Lucio didn’t find the moment to pick up their flirtation, but the flame hadn’t died out. They shared furtive glances as they walked past, as they sat by the fire or stepped into each other’s proximity. They also shared light touches whenever the occasion arised. There was that spark of interest in the blond’s eyes that made Julian’s heart jump and his blood fire up.

Everything changed the ominous day that the army lost the upper hand in combat. Lucio was brought back to the base on a horse that wasn't his, someone steadying him from behind. He was hunched over, swaying from side to side and holding his bloodied left arm for dear life. When he raised his head—involuntarily—Julian could see that his eyes were unfocused, his face deadly ashen. 

"Kid. Captain’s tent, you know what to do. I'll meet you there," Nazali, one of the senior doctors, ordered dryly. He nodded and rushed to gather his equipment, his heart beating wildly. Then he waited with an anxious knot in his stomach; whatever was about to happen… he knew it wouldn't be pretty. 

Two bulky soldiers and Nazali entered the tent shortly after, carrying Lucio on a stretcher. He was maundering between pained howls and shivering to the bone. He seemed completely unaware of what was going on. 

"Lay him down. We’re short handed, we’ll need your help." 

The soldiers nodded, Julian froze in place while everyone worked. 

"Make haste, Julian! Cut his sleeve, we're running out of time!" the doctor yelled. 

"Ah—Yes. Naturally!" he snapped out of it. 

He thrust his dagger through the fabric and tore it open with an unpromising sound; what it uncovered fared no better. There was a cut so deep in Lucio's flesh that his bone and muscles were in plain sight. His arm pulsated uncontrollably and his blood streamed freely, dampening what was left of his clothes and the already crimson sheets. It was all happening nauseatingly quick. 

"No. No, no, no," Julian retracted. "He'll bleed out, there’s no fixing it!"

Nazali stepped closer to see for themselves. 

"His arm has been maimed beyond repair…" Julian muttered. They clenched their jaw in agreement. 

"There's only one way out of this then, I'm afraid," Nazali declared. The ginger felt his heart become heavier. "Strengthen a ligature above the cut."

He closed his eyes, defeated. He proceeded to stop the bleeding and draw up the teared skin with great care. Lucio growled like a cornered animal, still unaware of his fate, but not blissfully. Nazali frowned and without any more preamble began laying out an assortment of bandages—wetted and dried in oxycrate—and a set of quirurgical tools on a basin. The two soldiers were visibly terror-struck at the sight of them, but were too intimidated to react. So was Julian.

"You will do it this time." 

"Master, I—" 

"You _need_ to do it." They handed him a crooked knife next, resolution in their voice.

"Oh _God_ ," the soldiers muttered.

"I can't. Please. Not yet…" and certainly not with _him_. He physically got away from the dreaded instrument. 

"Julian, I taught you well. You're ready," they insisted, their expression between urging and knowing. "That's how you learn. That's how you _save_ him."

Julian finally came back to his senses, but unfortunately so did Lucio. When he caught a glimpse of the metal in Julian's trembling hands he inhumanely shrieked and retreated further back into the bed. 

"Jul—N-no! That's—! Put that _down_. I'll _kill_ you if you get near me, I swear I'll—!" 

He was cut off by Julian's master shoving a piece of wood in his mouth. That only made him trash harder. He wasn't pleading or begging or crying, but there was a promise in his eyes: he was going to put up a fight until he passed out. 

"It's for your own good, captain. Bite hard." They squeezed his good shoulder sympathetically. He didn't even spare them a glance, he was too busy crazedly staring at Julian. "He’s in high spirits, let’s skip the cordial," they said as they pulled a pan of ashes and placed it next to the bed.

"… Hold him in place," the ginger heard himself say, but he couldn't meet Lucio's eyes. 

The three people in the room took positions around the bed to pin him down. Lucio gave up trying to form sentences and screamed at the top of his lungs instead, incapable of keeping himself from spitting. His teeth rattled violently against the wood in an eerie display of force. 

"I'm so sorry," Julian whispered. All he obtained for an answer was a distressed gasp from the unprepared spectators and a threatening wail from Lucio. "Lower his arm for me, will you?"

He didn't hesitate any longer. He felt his grip and the beating of his heart steadying and he knew that it was as good as it would get. He cut through flesh with good speed. Lucio was panting very hard and noisily. His whole body convulsed, knees attempting to kick whatever they could find at their wake in self defense. All of his veins were visibly pumping with fury and his eyes opened and closed as if he was about to fall unconscious, but he didn't. As Julian switched to a caitlin knife to remove the periosteum, he allowed himself to glance at Lucio out of the corner of his eye and saw him craning his neck to look at _him_. He huffed as if there wasn’t enough air in his lungs, but he refused to let his head fall back.

"Please survive…" he said distinctly, without meaning to. 

"He's strong, he will," the other doctor whispered encouragingly. 

"If you will, haul up the skin so that, uh… it may not hinder my path," Julian ordered, trying to be as vague about it as possible to save Lucio the distress of hearing it.

The noises the blond made as he reached for the bone saw became demented though. His voice was already nearly extinguished from the herculean effort that was staying awake and trying to vocalize his pain, but all that reached Julian's ears was the sickening clatter of the saw. He couldn't bring himself to listen to anything else, he needed to keep his mind clear, his strokes as few as possible. 

"You’re doing good. We’re almost through… almost through," he told Lucio, who finally stopped pushing his neck forward and closed his eyes.

One of the assistants—pale as a sheet—collected the separated part and, not expecting it to be so heavy, dropped it into the pan clumsily. No one made a comment about it. Julian concentrated on finding the protruding artery by its pulsing blood and clamped it down with the forceps. He tied it with a ligature to stop the bleeding, which proved to be very difficult because the palpitations kept pushing it off. With immense rigor he pierced through it with an already waxed needle and double knotted it to wrap up.

"It’ll be over soon, Lucio. You’ll see." 

The young doctor almost collapsed out of exhaustion when the deed was finished, Lucio looked at him languidly, emotionless. The last of his vigor had left him for good. When they finally pulled the piece of wood out of his mouth, he didn’t talk. He fainted not even a minute later. 

"You two, assist me while the doctor rests. It won't be long," Nazali benevolently hustled Julian to take over and suture the wound themselves.

"Yes, boss!" they both acceded, seemingly relieved to hear that the end was near.

"I can do it, I can carry through," Julian protested weakly.

"Rest assured I know you can!" they said proudly. "You did enough though, let us take care of it."

Without anything else to do, Julian started pacing around the tent. His blood spattered face and distant expression didn’t help his case of looking like a capable or stable person at all.

"Julian. Go take a breath outside," they said, eyes fixated on their work.

"No, I—" 

"You did well. I'll call you when it's time to dress the wound." It was not an order, but their tone didn't allow rebuttal either. And so, he abided by it. 

The cold air didn't comfort him in the slightest, but he allowed his breath to flow through his body after holding it in for long, as long as the amputation had lasted. He noticed his hands shaking, but he didn’t care; he didn’t need to be collected anymore.

He had performed many surgeries before and many of them under objectively worse circumstances: high at sea… under the rain, with improper tools. But taking a limb… it felt staggering. Impeding. He knew that waking up would be the hardest part for Lucio and he felt extremely despicable for not wanting to witness it or be there for him. For one thing, he was sure he'd be rejected after betraying his trust in such a crude manner.

"Doc. Hey, Julian…? Is captain Lucio—Is he…?" someone interrupted his thoughts. His blank stare must have been misleading, because they continued. "Was it him who screamed like that? Did he not…?" 

"He lived. He'll live." 

"Oh, thank goodness! Is he okay…? Are _you_ okay? You don't look too good."

Julian laughed joylessly, he didn't even know how to answer that. He was alive, but it wasn't enough. It was just done.

"I should get back to him," he simply said. Failing to ease the other person's worry, he went back into the tent.

* * *

Lucio was out like a light for over a day and a half. When he awoke he sat up in his bed and moved his shoulders forward without thinking. His right hand clasped the sheets, as naturally as breathing. His left simply wasn't there. 

He stared in utter shock for several minutes, completely speechless. Then he finally spotted Julian standing midway, a clean gauze in hand and a look of compassion in his eyes. For a split second relief washed over his tired features, then he lucidly remembered the last words that had left his mouth… the agony, the _noise_. It was too much. 

"I'll _kill you_ ," he growled as he jumped out of bed. Julian fell back instinctively and scampered on the floor because Lucio manifestly meant every word of it, but he—still unfamiliar with the absence of his arm—lost his balance and dropped down. He wasn't deterred though, he started crawling towards him—propelling himself with his good arm—like he was in a mad trance. "What did you do to me?! It's _gone_! **You… took it from me** **!** "

"Lucio, I— You're gonna hurt yourself, stop," he almost begged. "Please stop."

"You _took_ it. How could you?! How…!" He finally caught up to him and attempted to grab his collar, but his body failed him once more and he plummeted into Julian's chest instead. Julian felt tempted to hold him tightly and force him to cry it out in his arms; it'd be too easy to outmanoeuvre him in the state he was in, but it felt unfair. It was like he had said that night, rage was a moving force, it was what kept him alive. He couldn't take that from him too.

"Lucio…" he started. He was surprised when the blond groped his calf searchingly, with clear purpose. His blood ran cold as it dawned on him what he was trying to do, what he was trying to reach for. "H-hey, let's not get heated here, just…"

But it was too late. In a flash Lucio was straddling him and the dagger that Julian kept inside of his boot was pressed flush dangerously against his throat. How did he _know_ he had it on him? Instinct? 

"I told you! I did tell you to _stop!_ You didn't _listen_. No, you couldn't even bother looking me in the eye… You _bastard!_ Mark my words, I'll make you _pay_ …!" Lucio hissed. Julian wrestled to break free, but the blond was a dead weight on top of him. He was remarkably strong even in his sickness. 

"Maybe think about it… carefully? It doesn't have to go like this…" the ginger uttered very slowly, blade jiggling against his skin. The captain’s eyes were burning like coals, but he was clearly conflicted. 

"Why?" he whispered and Julian couldn't tell if he was answering or talking to himself. 

"That's, I—"

"Let him go," threatened a third voice unexpectedly. Nazali had sneaked into the tent silently while they struggled and was now pointing a sword at Lucio. "Release him."

"H—" 

Julian took advantage of the distraction and shoved the blond aside with calculated strength—as not to hurt him—making him land on his back and managing to retrieve his weapon in the process. Nazali drew their sword closer as soon as he was unarmed and Julian was safe and sound behind them.

"What are you gonna do next? Watch how your master kills me?" he laughed maniacally. 

"Lucio. Julian saved your life."

" _Saved my life?_ He _impaired_ me! And _you_ … you _allowed_ it!" He read the pity in their eyes and there was nothing that he _hated_ more. "I'm not…! Don't act like I'm out of my mind! I'd rather have _died_. Rather be dead than…" He looked down at his stump, but couldn't bear it. "Why the fuck aren't you answering me, Jules? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?!" 

Julian said nothing, but didn't break eye contact this time. He looked as if he had been hit with a bucket of ice cold water. 

"It's okay, Julian. You don't have anything to answer for, you did the right thing. He'll come around," they said gently—guiding the younger doctor outside by the shoulders—then turned to Lucio. "The worst thing you can be… is ungrateful."

"Where are you going? You're just going to leave me _here?_ " Lucio asked in a tone that was almost vulnerable, but not quite. 

"For now," Julian offered softly. And they both walked out. 

Lucio was on his own. The only enemy left to face was reality. His eyes stung badly and he could barely hold back a crying fit; he hadn't felt such helplessness since he was a child. 

He wanted them to come back and do _something_ about the void that was eating at his heart. About the phantom fingers that felt like they were curling up, but when he looked, they vanished. He gripped his thigh with his right hand until his knuckles went white, digging his nails hard on his skin. Pain taking away pain. A single rancorous tear burned its way down his cheek. 

"Dammit… _Dammit!_ " he shouted, not even caring about who'd hear him. Every breath he took, he punched the hard ground, but it didn't seem to relieve him as it might have in the past.

When he felt apathetic enough and a hint of blood issued from his knuckles he dragged himself off the floor and into the bed. And he waited.

* * *

Julian let himself into Lucio's tent with reservations, which he thought was fair after their _little_ confrontation earlier. Lucio stared at him with an unreadable expression, but he looked overall calmer. Unnervingly so, even. 

"Came back for more?" he asked sarcastically. 

"Er, I sure as hell hope not! I'm not carrying any weapons this time. Hidden or otherwise. Thought I should let you know," he answered similarly, but his tone lacked the bitterness.

"I'm _not_ going to apologize for that."

"Then we're even. I'm not apologizing _either._ " Although it was plain falsehood that he wasn’t sorry, it felt good to say that. _"Now_ , may I change your dressing without you attacking me?" 

"I'll try my best not to. No promises." 

Julian uncomfortably shifted where he stood because nothing in the other's voice struck him as friendly or in good fun, but approached him nonetheless. He started undressing Lucio's arm under his scrutiny. 

"This might be distressing to—"

"… I want to see it."

"Are you sure you—" 

"I'd rather not say it _twice_ ," he articulated sharply.

"Of course. As you wish," the doctor appeased; he wasn’t looking forward to another fight, be it physical or verbal. He worked diligently and soon only a layer of cloth was left. It was glued to the wound and Lucio looked askance at it. "Ah, don’t worry about that, bandages commonly stick. Warm water will help peel it off," he said as he soaked a sponge and pressed it kindly against his stump.

Lucio’s face was neutral as he watched, but the air that filled his chest refused to leave him when he finally _saw_ the ugly scar. He didn’t say anything while Julian examined and cleaned the wound, but the tension in the air was so thick it could almost be cut with a knife. Lucio's hand curled into a tight and trembling fist, full of hostility. The sense of danger made Julian's hair stand up on the base of his neck; he could feel his fight or flight instinct attempting to kick in. 

The accounts of the condottiero’s bloodthirsty side suddenly didn't seem far fetched. He had fallen in his good graces the day they had met—for some unsung reason—and he had seen him being amicable for the most part, but he could now understand why everyone was wary around him. He was unpredictable and unpredictable men were the ones you wouldn’t want to make enemies out of.

Still, as a doctor he couldn’t just flee, so he focused on the task at hand; applying a digestive unguent. Maybe if he carried it out swiftly he wouldn’t have to suffer another rampage. 

"This is to encourage suppuration, it will drive the bad humors away. And when it does… well, the pain should remit then. The fever…" he paused to check his temperature. "The fever may take longer, but it’s all bound to happen," he explained, if only to muffle the sound of Lucio’s growingly irritated teeth grinding. "Uh, now onto the dressing. We’ll move onto mundificatives, incarnatives and dessicatives in the next few days," he continued as he reorganized the clean gauzes.

"I don’t know what _any_ of that means, but it figures that I should trust a doctor’s judgement in matters of medicine, as doubting as I might be of his… _methods._ " No opportunity missed at deriding him. "Point being, you don’t have to break it down for me. I’m not particularly stirred," Lucio shrugged indifferently. As unappreciative and rude as he was designedly being, Julian was alleviated that he had deigned to grace him with more than one sentence.

"But of course! I take it you must be hungrier for _food_ than _knowledge_ as of now," Julian laughed. He wasn’t sure if the mood was right for a playful jab, but he got the more temerarious the bigger the threat was.

"I don’t know whether you’re daring or just looking for a dead sentence, but I’ll have you know that most people in their _sane_ minds wouldn’t dare to talk back to _me._ " So it hadn’t landed well after all, most times it didn’t. "Then again I’ve seen what you can do with a knife. See, if you can back up your bravado, it becomes righteousness," he affirmed after a brief consideration. 

"Either that or I lack elemental courtesy," he grinned. 

"Neither are untrue," he attacked, Julian laughed awkwardly. 

"Anyhow. You _must_ be hungry." 

"Other than stupid. Yes." 

"I didn't actually call you stup—" 

"Jules, I _am_ starving," he interrupted. As if on cue, his stomach growled. 

"I’ll see what I can snatch." 

Julian excused himself and came back after a while with porridge in one hand and caudle in the other. Lucio wasn’t precisely charmed. 

"It is what it is. You shouldn’t have anything too heavy… or strong drinks."

"Splendid! Might as well put me to death," he pronounced.

"Don’t be dramatic. Behaving won’t do you any harm," Julian smiled, sitting next to him with a spoon at the ready.

"You’re going to _feed_ _me_ as well? Hell _no_."

"Dear god, this is a standard procedure! No dignity lost in taking a helping hand when you need one. Here, hold your drink."

"Don’t treat me condescendingly, I detest it," Lucio answered as he reached for the pint. Julian noticed his bruised knuckles for the first time, he set the bowl of food aside and took the hand in his without thinking.

"What happened?" he frowned.

"Nothing." He was quick to withdraw it.

"I won’t ask if you don’t want to tell. But let me take a look at least."

"Can't it wait?" 

Julian sighed, but let him take the drink. Lucio allowed to be fed without complaining, but the longer the silence drew out, the uneasier the redhead grew. It was unlike Lucio to be so quiet and he feared it was the calm preceding a storm. He was pretty tense, too. 

"Did you learn something?" Lucio spoke after an eternity. Julian almost jumped. 

"Huh?" 

"When you did it." He took a deep breath, patience running thin by the second. "Did you _learn_ something?" He then made a conscious effort to relax his posture. "Was it _useful_?" he elaborated. 

"Oh. The surgery? Definitely… I think, yes." 

"You _think?"_ he pressed.

"No, I mean, it positively _was._ Useful, that is… It was." He was getting nervous. Was it an ambush of some kind or did he just seek for some comfort in knowing that it hadn't been in vain? 

"Then?"

"I'm not… I'm honestly not sure about what you want me to say?" he admitted, eyes anywhere, but on him. 

"I'm just asking a question. Why are you so restless?" He was definitely pissed off. 

"Wha—I'm not? I'm as calm as, hm, a millpond. Ha."

"Jules, don't take me for a fool. Are you scared of me? Is that it?" he spat in disbelief.

"Of course not! But you do appear… resentful towards me, to put it lightly," he sounded out. "And you _did_ point a dagger at me…" he muttered. Lucio dejectedly laughed at him. 

"You expect me not to be resentful? So soon after…" he cut himself off. "I won't try anything again, if that's what you're worried about," he continued with an offended scowl plastered on his face. 

"I'd… appreciate that." He looked down at his hands and paused to gather his thoughts before speaking. "For the record, I _do_ understand. I _know_ what I took from you and I know how hard that is to accept, let alone forgive. But I want you to at least hear me out, I suppose?" Lucio shrugged for the second time and Julian chose to take it as an invitation to go on. "A surgeon never glories in taking away members that _shouldn't_ be taken. I may be inexperienced, but I'm no different… I did what I had to do in order to save you. You're better off bitter than buried, that's how I see it. Hopefully you will too, in due course, but if you do begrudge me for life… then so be it."

Lucio didn't bother answering, mostly because he couldn't see the truth in those words yet. He dropped the belligerent attitude though, he owed Julian that much for his sincerity. 

"So, what now? Am I to waste away here?" 

"You should rest, Lucio." 

"They _need_ me out there." Julian could now recognize that tone of his. It came through when he felt exposed, when he wanted reassurance, but didn't know how to ask for it. He was, after all, too proud. 

"They need you healed and strong." He placed a firm hand on his shoulder, almost prepared for Lucio to shove it off, but he didn't.

* * *

Julian cared for Lucio as he lay motionless in bed in the following weeks. His temper had been decidedly volatile in the wake of his surgery; one minute he was serene, the next he went for Julian’s throat with hard-hearted words he could hardly _really_ mean. Julian saw him pull himself along the trail of trauma and grief without shedding a single tear; he had chosen the path of anger instead. But if there was something the doctor _truly_ feared, it was his patient’s silence. A sharp, unresponsive silence that made his breath leave him. One that was regrettably contagious, hopeless and very unlike Lucio. 

It was in the middle of one of these silences that Julian offered to help him into the wooden tub for a proper—long-needed—bath. He had been washing him in bed regularly, which Lucio had ultimately gotten used to, but Julian somehow knew he’d be fighting tooth and nail to get him out of bed. He wasn’t wrong.

"I’ll be doing it myself when my arm’s better. Didn’t you say I shouldn’t wet it?"

" _Too much,_ I said you shouldn’t wet it too much."

"Well, you’re not bathing me. End of story."

"Lucio—"

"I said **_no_**."

"Don’t be unreasonable! I’ll just help you scrub where you can’t reach and I’ll show you how to do it with your—" Julian experimentally reached for the bed covers as if he was trying to lure an animal out of its hideout. Lucio tightened his grip on it.

" ** _Don’t!_ **"

"Lucio. You _need_ to bathe."

"Why don’t you just—do what we always do with the cloth and the bandages and—"

"We can’t do that forever!" Julian pulled at the covers again, just to see Lucio pull them back up.

"Why not?" he asked softly. Julian couldn’t understand the source of Lucio’s discomfort. He’d washed him plenty of times before and he’d already seen both his naked body and wound, so it was not like it could be a matter of modesty.

"Because it’s going to be good for you to get out of bed and we won’t have to worry about getting the sheets changed. Surely you don’t revel in neglecting your hygiene _or_ having me move you around all the time?"

"I don’t, but having you wash me in the tub is… _disgracing_."

"… Disgracing? Very well, I don’t see how helping you get cleaned there is any different from cleaning you here, but how about this? I’ll be around in case you need me, but I won’t get directly involved if you don’t call for me."

" _Huh?_ "

"You said you’d do it yourself, so I’m telling you to try to do it now. You can move, right?"

"Of course I can!" Lucio huffed. "Don’t treat me like I’m incapable of doing anything by myself! I can do it! It’s just a _stupid arm!_ _It can’t be so hard_." Lucio shimmied out of bed, his feet dangling over the edge menacingly. "You think I can’t do it? _I’ll prove it to you._ "

"I don’t doubt your abilities nor am I challenging you, Lucio. You’ll have to relearn how to use your body at some point and I don’t mind supporting you, but if you want to do it alone… it’s fine by me, as long as you do it," Julian said as he settled back on the furs.

" _I’m sick of your doctor talk._ "

"I could argue that I’m sick of your unruly patient act as well, but quite frankly I prefer it over your previous death threats and literal assassination attempts," he sighed.

" _Attempts?_ plural? That was once and you _know_ I wouldn’t have seen it through…"

"Do I, though? What I do know for sure is that if Nazali hadn’t intervened right then and there I might be dead," Julian shrugged. "Don’t give me that look, if you have a right to feel aggrieved… so do I!"

"An eye for an eye, huh? Only I didn't take what I lost. Nor did I take anything at all in return, in the end."

"If you had slit my throat, the exchange wouldn't have been one and the same. You realize that, don't you? One arm does not equal a life."

"Good thing I didn't kill you, then! My honor remains untainted. What does that say about yours, though?" Lucio brought a thoughtful hand to his face. Julian had come to learn that there were times when the captain was _truly_ confrontational and times where he only entertained arguments for the fun of it. This one seemed to be the latter, so he decided to answer in the same tone.

"You speak as if I owe you for the 'inconvenience' I caused you, but you're looking at it the wrong way; if anything, _you_ owe _me_ for saving your life. Thankfully for you, I'm not the kind of man to hold grudges, so my honor and peace of mind are fundamentally unaffected."

"Notwithstanding the fact that being dismembered _hardly_ qualifies as a _mere_ _'inconvenience'_ … you're lying. The guilt is obviously consuming you and you've been pampering me to repay for what you did."

"You're wrong. Emotions of guilt are only natural for a surgeon, at the stake of moral innocence. And I assure you my actions and concern towards you have been _nothing_ but genuine."

"Hmph," Lucio snorted.

"I don't expect you to see like me, we both do what we have to do to bear with what we do for a living. You can't afford guilt as a benefactor of war and I thrive on difficult decisions that would border villany if not prompted by life or death situations. Like the one that led to your amputation in the first place."

"Clashing moral grounds, you reckon?"

"You could define it that way. _But enough of silly discourse!_ Are you going to get out of bed or not?" Julian insisted. "I won’t pressure you into it any more. If you don’t feel up to it, I’ll help you as usual. Just tell me what it’ll be."

" _Fine,_ I’ll do it. But don’t look at me," Lucio requested as he rose.

"What? For real?"

"Yes. Turn the other way, read a book… Do whatever you want, but don’t look at me."

"Fine…" Julian still didn’t understand what had Lucio so concerned, but he picked up a book from the captain’s chest and turned the armchair so that it was facing the opposite wall. "Would it be best if I leave?" he thought of asking once he was settled.

"I don’t mind if you stay," Lucio said through gritted teeth. Julian could hear a rustling sound, so he must have started undressing.

"Why don’t you want me to look? I’ve already seen your—"

"It’s not the same. When you tend to me or cleanse my wounds, you’re doing something I can’t do, bathing is… it’s different. If I can move, it means I can do it."

"That’s your reason? You don’t want to lose your autonomy."

"… You don’t understand."

"No, I do! Or I’m trying. Only that in order to become independent, you have to relearn how to handle yourself and there’s nothing wrong with someone having your back wh—"

"I’m not so… _weak_. It’s not like I’m learning how to walk, Jules. I’m not a child." Ironically, saying that made him sound a lot more his age, Julian thought. The rustling suddenly stopped and the blond took a deep shaky breath.

"I didn’t say you were… Say, is everything alright?"

" _Fuck, why is this so—?_ " he murmured, fistling at his clothes aggresively.

"Lucio?"

"It’s such a little uncomplicated thing and I can’t— **I can’t do it**."

"Is this my cue? Can I turn around now?" Julian slipped the book back into place, ready to do his job if prompted, but Lucio didn’t immediately answer. He fell back onto the bed with a thud before he said:

" _Whatever._ "

When Julian turned his head, he found Lucio laying face down in a half-undressed state. He had managed to get out of his shirt—for the most part—but his pants had only made it halfway through his thighs. If he had been wearing a belt, he couldn’t even have gotten that far. When Julian approached him, he grumbled into a pillow like distant thunder. The frustration must have been eating him up inside. 

"It’s okay, I’ll help you." Julian placed a hand on his good shoulder, asking for permission to take the reins of the situation, as originally planned. As expected, Lucio just shrugged.

"I hate this. I’m _not_ weak," he complained as Julian helped him up and pulled his pants off.

"I know."

"My grip is _just fine_ ," he continued. The young doctor slid his shirt completely off his shoulders.

"I know."

" _No, you don’t!_ I can do things myself, it’s just _today_ that’s no good," he kept making excuses as if he had something to prove. Julian couldn’t tell him this, but the fact that he was—on average—lively and downright bellicose was proof enough that he had a will that was anything but weak. Dejected, unmoving patients were usually bad news.

"I know, Lucio. You’ll get used to it. It’s still progress," he affirmed. "The water should be lukewarm, it’ll feel good."

"Quit consoling me. You don’t—you **_can’t_ ** know how this feels." Lucio sat on the tub, with his knees up to his chest.

"You’re right… and I’m sorry I can’t," Julian lamented. "I mean—I’m sorry that I can’t understand what you’re going through, not that I can’t feel it. Uh, that’s insensitive on my part, but you know what I mean."

He carefully uncovered the wound, rolling the worn dressing neatly with one hand as he went around the stump with the other. 

"It looks hideous…" Lucio observed in disgust, moving his shoulder up to get a better view of it. 

"Careful you don't tear the suture. It doesn't look pretty, I’ll give you that, but it's healing nicely."

"How will it look once it’s fully… _healed?"_ Lucio asked in a tone that was simultaneously fearful and curious.

"Only time can tell. It most likely won’t be very different from these…" Julian ran his fingers over a couple of adjoining scars on Lucio’s torso. It was a more intimate touch than they were used to, but he didn’t think anything of it until Lucio tensed up under him, contracting his abdominal muscles in surprise. "… That’s to say, it will presumably be smoother and softer than your healthy skin. Pinkier, perhaps… Uh, I see you have _quite a lot_ of scars," he coughed awkwardly as he withdrew his hand.

"Hm, predominantly sword injuries. Howbeit, I don’t usually get the short end of the stick," Lucio smirked.

"So I’ve heard. Some say having too much good luck is a bad omen on its own…" Julian joked. A strange expression flickered in Lucio’s face before he laughed.

"If that’s true; I would imagine I’ve already paid the price, wouldn’t you say?"

"Oh, I don’t believe in God’s punishment. Fortuity is far more credible and worldly accountability more comforting. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think you deserve what happened to you, it’s just an immutable fact that it did." The redhead picked up the pitcher beside the tub and poured some water over Lucio’s chest and arm. "Let's get you clean before you get cold, shall we?"

The next minutes were the most calm the pair had shared ever since their first meeting. Lucio had been warming up to Julian day by day, but the nature of their relationship—accompanied by the fact that it was Julian who’d taken his arm and that he had tried to claim his revenge—made for a latent hostility between them. Any and all hard feelings seemed to dissipate as Julian washed him thoroughly; his hands were soft and delicate on the condottiero’s sore skin and he paid utmost heed when they bordered the fresh incision in his shoulder.

"…You’re too kind. People will definitely abuse your kindness," Lucio put forward, unprompted. Julian laughed.

"Your compliments are always sort of back-handed, aren’t they?"

"I’m **not** complimenting you."

"Well, I don’t think I’m all that good-natured to start with, but what wrong does it do if people use me to their advantage? When all is said and done… I’m a doctor. It’s my function to care."

"You sure babble a lot about being a doctor for someone who doesn’t even have a license," Lucio snorted. "Wet my hair too, it feels unbearably greasy." He started scrubbing his skin while Julian busied himself with his hair.

"Ha, you’re not wrong, but I have several medical procedures and fully healed patients under my belt to atone for my lack of authority. Now I even have the successful amputation of a remarkable public figure’s arm to add to my merits, doesn’t that count for something?"

"You’re an unrepenting bastard, but I guess it does. That silver tongue of yours will get you places if your neophyte skills don’t," he genuinely smiled.

"Talk about articulateness, you really have a way with casual unpleasantry." Julian smiled back. Lucio might have put up a fierce fight to avoid getting help, but he was being surprisingly agreeable. "How’s the pain today?"

"Same as always. It throbs, it hurts."

"Sad to hear it… Say, do you still feel your fingers?" Julian asked casually. The blond's eyes shot up, wide and unbelieving.

"How do you know that? I—Sometimes it’s like I still have them. How can they burn and twist and hurt like this if they’re— _gone?"_

"It’s not unheard of. That sensation will probably go away with time."

" _Probably?_ "

"It’s not an exact science, there’s no telling when or if it’ll completely ease up. I’m sorry."

"What happened to my arm, anyway?"

"Uh…" Julian winced. For every moment of peace there was twice as much confrontation. 

"Buried with the dead, I take it?" he asked sarcastically.

" _Lucio,_ it was truly insalvable."

"I asked what happened to it, not if you could have _not_ chopped it off, which we have _already_ discussed at length."

"I know we have, I'm just not sure you _understand_ —"

"It's you who doesn't, Jules. You might have saved me, but I _can't_ change how I feel about losing a part of myself to your knife. I don't—I don't think I want you to pay for it anymore, but I look at _this_ and I'm reminded—I'm reminded of the fury I felt, the powerlessness… _As much as I'd like it to_ , you saying I'd have bled out if you hadn't dismembered me can't take that away."

"Lucio, I—I understand your loss. But I don't have any more words of apology or comfort to prove I'm not apathetic about it—I just don't know what else to do to be on good terms with you."

"You don't have to do anything. You’ve said it yourself before; I'll never see through your eyes and you won't walk in my skin. It all comes down to that."

"I still don’t want you hating me," Julian frowned as he rinsed Lucio’s hair.

"Who said I hate you? Pretty men… I can never hate." He pushed a lock of Julian’s hair aside playfully.

"F-flattery is unbecoming of you, Lucio."

"Maybe so, but if it works…" he laughed. "To be entirely serious, perhaps one day we’ll laugh about this like old friends do."

"You think?"

They fell silent as they imagined such a peaceful future, could it come to be? What did an unofficial doctor and a wealthy mercenary have in common, if not war? It certainly had brought them together—by chance—but it would likely tear them apart once it was over.

Their soapy hands accidentally bumped into each other as they distractedly spread the soap, bringing them back to reality.

"Oh, excuse me."

"Hey, Jules… I can reach my lower body on my own, but how do I—?" he gestured at his upper body, not wanting to spell it out any more. Julian could tell that Lucio wasn’t familiar with being teached nor with admitting he didn’t know something.

"Ah. From what I’ve seen other amputees do… instead of using your palm to scrub your back, you should use the back of your hand. Your elbow has more range of movement and you can cover more skin that way… Like this," he gently twisted Lucio’s arm behind his back to show him.

" _Oh._ "

"For the rest, you reach over and under your—uh, shoulder and armpit and you turn your body towards the center as if you were stretching… Yes, that’s it." The blond didn’t have trouble following the instructions.

"It’s _so_ obvious," Lucio spat in a mix of genuine disbelief and satisfaction.

"Getting dressed will be a little trickier," Julian observed.

"So much for not doubting my abilities… Are you trying to dishearten me?" the blond heaved an annoyed sigh.

"Not at all. _Take it as a challenge_ ," Julian’s lips curled into a malicious smile. He felt like he was learning how to deal with Lucio where others had failed. Somehow it filled him with pride.

* * *

The first time Lucio reunited with the rest of the mercenary company he was as resolute as if nothing had happened. It was easy to mistake his pride for wellness, but the truth was that he had become physically and mentally unavailable.

He hardly joined any leisure activities anymore, he would train his balance, stance and sword play until he was weak at the knees and locked himself in his tent for hours at a time. Julian was next to him when he took kindly to it and left him alone when not.

One night that felt exactly like the others, he showed up at the bonfire. The chanting stopped abruptly; everyone was expectant. Lucio toppled like a dead weight next to Julian, so close that their thighs brushed against each other.

"Am I interrupting something?" he broke the silence with a tight lipped smile.

"Absolutely not, captain! It’s great to have you!"

"You look healthy!"

"I’d be healthier than you bundle with _both_ arms cut off! I bet I can still take you all down with just _one_ ," he barked mirthfully. Julian was baffled to hear him joking about what had single-handedly been his heaviest burden for the past few days. "What are you waiting for? Let the music play, I didn’t come for your ugly mugs!"

The celebration resumed enthusiastically. Lucio inattentively slid his arm around Julian’s shoulders. Their height difference made for an awkward pose—his fingers barely reached Julian's shoulder blade—so he slouched forward and tried to respond to the touch nonchalantly by hooking his arm around the other's waist. An aggressive blush betrayed his intentions, but luckily Lucio's attention was elsewhere. He still managed to pique the curiosity of some of the legionnaires. 

"What about it, Jules? Would you authorize this poor amputee to have a drink to heighten his demoralized spirits?" Lucio hummed, completely resting his weight on Julian in a way that could only be described as tantalizing. If someone wasn't intrigued before, they most likely were now. 

"My, my, commander! Looking for spousal approval is the one thing I could never picture you doing!" someone was brave—or drunk—enough to say. Julian spat out his rum and choked in the process because apparently he didn't have any more dignity to keep for the night. 

"S-spousal? That's, hm, that really is a word that just left your mouth. Huh. _Spousal_ ," he repeated. 

"You should have seen what he’s capable of doing with a saw. Better ask than risk losing any other body part, thank you very much!" Lucio sneered. Not for the first time, he was unbothered that everyone assumed that they were involved romantically. 

"I reckon we always thought you were bluffing with your little pirate stories, Julian!" 

"Ha? Dare you accuse me of forgery, of _all_ things? I'll duel for my honor, hell, I'll even do it for another pint!" Julian jumped to his feet and pretended to draw a sword, hand in chest for dramatization. 

"He might not look like much, but I assure you he's implacable like steel, formidable like a mountain," Lucio insisted, invigorating the improvised play. 

"Yes, yes, I like what I'm hearing. It may just earn you the right to drink! Give this man what he wants! Doctor's orders!" 

Julian playfully dueled with a bunch of soldiers, not skimming on foolishness to everyone's joy. When he got tired he sat back next to Lucio, who now had a pint in hand and looked placid like he had never seen him. 

"Cheers, captain!" he smiled, offering his mug for a toast. 

"Cheers, doc!" he answered with a clank, his alcohol flushed face casually coming to rest on Julian's shoulder.


	3. Old Friends

Julian stood at the gates of the palace anxiously, a crumpled letter in hand. He had been summoned to find a cure for the disease that had taken the city by storm, much like every other doctor, magician and alchemist of Vesuvia and its outskirts. The perspective of reuniting with an awfully more influential and older Lucio almost made him sick to his stomach; it had been years since they had last seen each other and Lucio was now _married_ and—most concerningly— _dying._ Julian didn’t feel ready to face any of those truths.

He had thumbed his fingers over the words of the letter so many times that the paper had worn down. He couldn’t refute his curiosity, the message was so impersonal that it may as well have been written by a servant and not Lucio himself, but he had been drawn to the palace all the same.

His musing was disrupted by the guards announcing the Countess. Julian couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw her. She was beautiful, more so than he’d anticipated. Her skin shimmered under the unforgiving sun. Her gown and dark hair undulated gracefully as she walked towards him, inquisitive eyes searching his face from the distance. He composed himself as if it was second-nature.

"Ludovico, open the gates." Although she was so close and her expression was serene, she had an unapproachable aura to her. Commonplace in nobility, he supposed. Would Lucio be the same now? "Doctor Devorak, I take it? I’m most delighted to finally meet you."

"Countess," he gave her a small curtsy, face already tinted in red. "The delight is mine! Ah—Thank you for sending a carriage, you shouldn’t have!"

"Don’t mention it, doctor. It’s the least I could do. I do hope you found the ride enjoyable and without incident." 

"Oh, absolutely, I wouldn’t dare to imply otherwise!"

"Glad to hear it. Unfortunately, due to his _condition,_ Lucio can't be up to welcome you personally."

"It's no trouble! Patients don't usually greet me standing, anyhow."

"Let us go meet him, then. This way," she said as she gestured for him to follow.

Julian's eyes wandered about, everything was far more luxurious than anything he was used to. He felt like a fish out of water. 

"I have been made aware that you’re already familiarized with my husband." 

"Ah, y-yes. Well, I—that was long ago," he blushed as if he had something to be ashamed of, which he realized was _not_ the case. Lucio wasn’t even married then and it wasn’t like they had been lovers either. That thought burned a bit more than he would like to admit. "At war! We met at war! Many years ago," he clarified. The Countess tilted her head, failing to see what the fuss was about. 

"I don’t know how he was back then, but I should warn you that he might be sort of… _disagreeable_ ," she said tactfully.

"Then not unlike I knew him at all!" Julian snorted. "Uh, no offense."

"None taken." Now it was her time to laugh. "Ah, here we are. I don’t see his hounds around, mayhaps they’re upstairs…?" she wondered out loud.

"Hounds?" he asked as they started climbing the staircase.

"Yes. Animals, hunting… He’s an enthusiast of both."

"Is that so?" he contemplated, wondering about how Lucio might occupy his time now that he was older—and war history. The notion of them becoming strangers felt unwelcome, but possible. 

The stairs led to a long corridor, at the end of which there was a tall door that stood out too much not to be the master bedroom. They continued their small talk as they approached it. Julian kept a stiff upper lip, but he was getting the more anxious with every step.

Nadia pushed the door quietly, but the aforementioned dogs started snarling at the newcomers as soon as they stepped in. They both startled, but Nadia covered it up with an annoyed click of her tongue. 

"As friendly as ever," she spat indignantly. 

"Mercedes. Melchior," a familiar voice called. "That is no way to greet an _old friend of mine._ " The snarling ceased instantly.

" _Or_ your wife, for that matter," she added. 

Lucio laughed. He was leaning back in an enormous canopy bed, unsurprisingly all red. His upper body was almost indiscernible in the darkness, so Julian had to step closer to actually see him. He looked fairly different from the charming young man that he knew in the battlefield—certainly much more mature—but he wasn’t unrecognizable. The most notable change was, evidently, that his eyes were ablaze in red. Clear sign of the Red Plague.

"Jules," he spoke lowly, looking him up and down with a curiosity to match Julian’s. 

"Haven’t heard that name in ages! How have you been, Lucio?"

"That’s _Count_ Lucio for you, _doctor_. Have you forgotten?" he corrected, but his lips were curled up into a grin.

"Ah, couldn't forget it if I tried. I'll be sure not to make that mistake again, _my lord,_ " he grinned back, relieved to hear his voice coming out as biting and natural as if they had never parted. 

"You sly dog, you, how little you've changed!" 

"A-ha, you haven't aged a day yourself!" he laughed, thoughtlessly extending his arm to pat him, but drawing it back almost immediately. It was probably improper etiquette for a commoner to touch a noble uninvited. 

His eyes finally chanced upon Lucio’s prosthesis. There was no one in town that didn’t know about his golden alchemical arm, every statue of him featured it. No, he wasn’t sporting that one, he realized; his fingers weren’t razor-sharp. Maybe he wore a duller version of it in his daily life, it would be the sensible thing to do, anyway. Whatever the case, old feelings of guilt—buried deep within him—forced him to glance away. Lucio seemed to take notice, as sharp as ever.

"Why? Can’t bear to look at your own work?" he asked. There was a smile on his face still, but his tone was almost antagonizing. The Countess brought a thoughtful hand to her face, only now realizing who _exactly_ the doctor was. 

"Eh? Oh no, no! I would certainly not refer to it as such, my lord!" he panicked. "But I, uh, do have to say it looks the more striking in person!"

"Oh, you should see my claws," he bragged. "They are a work of art, truly sublime." He looked at Nadia for corroboration, but she was too busy staring at her nails to feed his ego. 

"I can only imagine! I could say you were made to be bejeweled in gold. Cross my heart, I would not be lying!" Julian resorted to flattery with a flourish, if the man before him was anything like the one he had met years ago, he knew it'd win him his favor. 

"You don't have to lick my boots," was what he said, but he seemed too complacent to mean that and not the _exact_ opposite. Julian, _of course_ , turned red from neck to ears. 

The Countess—who had stayed out of the entire conversation and was certainly not planning on getting involved—rolled her eyes. If she was witnessing the birth of something—name it an affair—between her husband and the doctor, she did not seem to mind; maybe having him would free everyone else in the court from suffering Lucio's wrath. She figured it would be a good thing.

"Well, you two have some catching up to do, so I'll take my leave. Doctor, do come find me to discuss your contract at a later time."

"T-thank you, milady, I will!" he bowed his head, apparently just now remembering she was still there. 

"I'll arrange it for someone to show you around as well."

Julian somehow felt relieved when she left, yet when he looked at Lucio, the words died out in his throat; once he had acknowledged the familiarity he'd been so anxious to find in the man before him, he realized there was also a feeling of absolute otherness in the way they subtly inspected each other, trying to fill in the gaps in time with a single glance… As if that was possible. It wasn't the changes or the differences that Julian was worried about (after all, he couldn't expect things to stay the same forever), but what if they didn't get along like they used to? What if his mere presence in the palace was a painful reminder of the unrelenting passage of time, a reminder of their fading youth? It seemed like it was just yesterday when they were laughing by the fire. Julian remembered it vividly; their cheeks that came close to the point they couldn't tell their body heat apart, their hands that somehow kept finding and losing each other, their eyes that had met in a moment too significant for its ephemerality…

"Are you part of the furniture or what?" Lucio snapped his fingers to catch Julian's attention.

"Eh—? Ah, sorry. Shall I examine you?" he asked, he had to stop reminiscing. 

"There will be plenty of time for that. Why don't you keep me company for a while, instead?" 

"Oh—I—of course. I'd love to." 

"Bring that armchair over here."

"Uh, you look… good. Very good," Julian complimented as he got seated at a prudent distance from Lucio. 

"You too. Chopped off your hair, huh?" 

"Ah, yes. It got in the way, so…" 

"Hmhm. I like it." Julian blushed. "I hear you're a proper doctor now, got your own clinic and all…" 

"Y-yes, so it seems. Look at you, though. Married and ruling a city!" he whistled, internally wondering why he'd said that. "Now that's what I call prosperousness!" 

"Right," he agreed monotonously. Julian had expected him to boast, but a strange silence settled between them. Had he said something wrong?

"Talk has it that you used to show your face a lot at the taverns at South End, it's remarkable that we somehow managed not to bump into each other all this time, huh? It sure is rowdy around those parts." 

"I didn't know you were in town, you should have visited earlier," the blond changed the subject altogether, seemingly more interested in knowing about Julian's whereabouts. 

"I didn't—Sorry I didn't. This is all so grand and it's been so many years that…" He vaguely gestured as if the answer was very obvious. "I thought I'd be a bit of a square peg in a round hole, if I'm honest!" he laughed, but Lucio was still serious when he said:

"Nonsense. I would have welcomed you with open arms."

"Old friends are friends regardless, isn't that right! Rest easy, you'll be seeing a lot of me from now on, to make up for the lost time!" Julian grinned. Lucio smiled sadly. 

The mood became lighter as they shared anecdotes and Julian prosified the stupidest—most irrelevant—moments of his career as an official doctor, but the corners of Lucio's mouth kept threatening to slip into an unconscious sulk. He looked mildly gone throughout the whole conversation, as if his mind was wandering off somewhere distant. Julian didn't know how to feel about their reunion.


	4. Pride Truce

As it turned out, life at the palace was nothing of the easy sort. Julian’s workplace—a library with shelves that whirled around a gigantic stained window—had been an unlikely haven of peace amidst the massacre going on outside, as had the company of the white haired magician that went by the name of Asra and that he sat across from. But it had proved to be illusory when he was invited to continue his research in a renovated facility in the old dungeons, under the supervision of quaestor Valdemar. Now, as a plague doctor Julian wasn’t bothered by the bizarre, the illicit, the dubious or even the morbid… but he drew the line at depravity. Valdemar met all five tendencies.

The dungeons were cold, dim and putrid and that wasn’t even the worst part of it. What they did in there… try as he might, he wouldn’t dare to put into words. He was used to the daily grind and restless nights by now—in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept undisturbed—but something didn't sit right with him as he emerged from the underground after a particularly exhausting day. 

It was not only his double work life that was the source of his uneasiness: Lucio had reentered his life, reigniting a flame that Julian had incorrectly presumed to be extinct, only now it came with an insurmountable class breach and a dark prospect of deception and death. The blond was managing to muddle through the illness better than most, which gave him a false sense of hope, but—although he didn’t act like it—he was still very much married. There was no denying they were slowly venturing into _something_ , but Julian couldn’t live off uncertainty, guilt and wanting looks… so he seeked the comfort he needed from someone else: Asra. Although Julian was distrusting of magic, he adored the magician. He was bright and beautiful, but he knew too well that he was using him to fill a void of his own.

It was with these conflicts in mind that he arrived at Lucio’s door.

"Took you long enough! You reek of humidity," Lucio remarked as he scrunched his nose.

"Believe it or not, I’m not _only_ paid to look after you. There are other matters that require my presence elsewhere," he returned, entirely ignoring the second part.

"What could _possibly_ be of higher priority than tending to **me** **?** "

"Yeah, yeah…"

Julian started deploying the items he’d been carrying without even listening; he was too tired for the Count’s antics. Lucio scoffed in disbelief at the lack of attention.

"You look too unpresentable even by your standards. You need only ask and I’ll have your clothes cleaned… I could even get you something nice to wear, I have a good eye for these things, you know," he continued in hopes that it would spark conversation. It didn’t.

Julian scrutinized him momentarily and went about his business, placing a leech on his gaunt arm and busying himself with his equipment while they waited. Lucio held his tongue, just now realizing that the redhead was purposely ignoring him. Minutes went by without a word… until he couldn’t take it any longer. He ripped the parasite off his body, sending tiny droplets of blood flying through the air.

"What in God’s na— **Hey** **!** Those are expensive!" he shouted just as Lucio tossed it, hurriedly picking it up and putting it back into the jar it originally came from. He turned with arms crossed as if expecting an apology that, unsurprisingly, never came.

"I’m done with these bloody—these… God dammed atrocious creatures!" he announced, dropping his head back into the pillow and letting his blood freely drip from the open wound.

"Ah, I see you've chosen to be difficult today. Just like yesterday, and the day before that. Oh, _and the day before that_."

"Maybe I wouldn't have to be if you did something to _cure_ me instead of _torturing_ me. What even is keeping you so busy?"

"Excuse _me?_ " he actually had to bring a hand to his face to calm himself down.

"Oh, I think you heard me just fine."

"I can't—I can't believe it. Do you genuinely do not realize _everyone_ is working without rest day and night to find the cure? Are you just clueless or are you too self-concerned, fussing and stomping your feet like a _spoiled child_?" Julian spat bitingly.

Lucio was visibly shocked, if not directly enraged. He wasn’t used to people talking back to him and even less to being insulted to his face.

"If you have so much work to do, I’d better not waste any more of your _precious_ time, _doctor_ ," he said rancorously, breathing heavily through his nose.

"You’re unbelievable," Julian affirmed plainly.

Not the answer Lucio was looking for. In a fit of rage he picked the nearest object he could find and threw it at Julian, missing him by an inch, but shattering it against the wall with a boisterous noise. Julian took a step back, startled. Then irritated. He took a deep— _deep_ —breath.

"Some things just _never_ change, do they?" he talked low. "I get it. You’re tired, _I’m_ tired. I’ll come back when you’re calmer." He picked up the jar of leeches and turned tail, he couldn’t stand being with Lucio a second longer.

"Jules, don’t you dare…!" he threatened. Completely powerless, he reached for another glass and launched it across the room. "If you leave don’t you dare to come back!" he screamed as Julian crossed the door. **"** **YOU HEAR ME?!** **"**

"Loud and clear. I’ll send someone up to clean this up," he simply said, not missing his chance to slam the door theatrically as he left. He heard yet another clash, a string of curses and then silence. He didn’t turn back, instead marching for the stairs. 

A few curious passers-by inquired about what just happened, but Julian’s patience was through. He arranged for someone of the service to come upstairs after the Count had cooled down to tidy up and give him his medicine and then made his way to the library, where he dozed off out of pure exhaustion. Thankfully, he fell into a long needed dreamless sleep. 

It wasn’t long until he was called for duty, but he felt well rested enough to deal with whatever nonsense Lucio was about to throw at him. Because it was never about whether he _would_ , but about _what_ would it be this time. He had seemingly cut his hand with a shard of glass and wouldn’t allow anyone to do anything about it. Anyone but his _trusty_ doctor, that was. He could almost hear the scornful remark in Lucio's voice in his head. He sighed and made his way up.

When he got there Lucio was sitting on his bed, bored eyes fixated on his palm; he didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

"Could it be that—Did you stab yourself to get my attention?" Julian asked suspiciously. Lucio turned to face him momentarily, an offended scoff for an answer. Julian shook his head in dissentment. "Let me see that."

Lucio went back to not looking at him, but extended his arm in his general direction nonetheless. Julian exhaled resignedly and sat on the chair beside the bed to examine it.

"As if I'd be so foolish," Lucio said, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Hm?"

"As if I'd be so foolish to stab myself for anyone's attention, let alone yours. Full of yourself, are you?"

"Did you call for me so that you could continue insulting me?" 

"No? If I remember correctly, it was _you_ who said I was a spoiled child, Jules." 

"Well, you sure are acting like one," he said calmly. Before the other could protest, Julian commanded. "Stay still."

They went quiet as the shard was dislodged. Lucio sibilated in pain, his blood gushing out tirelessly. Julian disposed of the object and applied pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding. When he was done he wrapped his palm in an impeccable gauze.

A more comfortable atmosphere settled between them. Julian proceeded to inspect the teared flesh—where Lucio had carelessly pulled the leech—with a soft frown of concentration. Lucio looked at him work intently, noticing how steadily his hands moved, years of experience obvious in every move.

"Your fingers are long," he observed. Julian spared him an inquiring glance, his eyebrow slightly rising. "I must accede, you _are_ skilled in your craft," he continued, averting his gaze. if Julian didn’t know any better, he’d sworn the Count was… _apologizing_. 

"Is that supposed to be an apology or…?"

"What—no. No!" he interrupted. "Why would I—I'm simply stating a fact. Nothing more to it." He puffed his chest, teeth gritting in a battle against his own pride. Julian couldn’t hide his amusement. "Mayhaps… you’re under the impression that I was… belittling towards your field of expertise earlier," he gestured. 

"Quite so," he admitted. Lucio pursed his lips, his tongue poking out of his mouth as if he was trying too hard to think of something to say. 

"Well, that is certainly not the case."

"Ah?" Julian dropped his hands and looked at him, urging him to continue. 

"I wouldn't hire a doctor I thought poorly of. If not the best, what's the point of having one at all?" Lucio _was_ apologizing, in his own deviating and self aggrandizing way, but apologizing still. 

Julian couldn't keep the shock from showing in his face, could it be that he wasn't sitting next to Lucio, but still napping at the library?

"W-what? Why are you looking at me like that?" A faint blush crept up Lucio's cheeks. 

"No particular reason," Julian smiled and went back to tending to him. 

* * *

A few hours later Julian was joining the Countess and her entourage at the table, as per her request. It wasn’t long before she asked him about his progress with Lucio.

"Oh, er, he wasn’t overly cooperative today. I’ll say that much," he admitted.

"Talk has it that the glassware didn’t live through the day," Valerius swirled his wine, not even trying to hide the gossipy nature of his interest. Asra, on the other hand, seemed completely unphased.

"He may or may have not thrown some sharp objects at me."

"So I’ve heard. Please, doctor, do excuse him. His humor hasn’t been optimal ever since he… Well, you know," the Countess said as she gracefully folded her hands. She also wasn’t one for whispering campaigns.

"If I may, even longer before that," Vulgora corrected.

"It goes _way_ back," Vlastomil agreed.

"Ah, not to worry! It’s already behind us," Julian laughed away. Realizing the court expected him to elaborate, he felt compelled to add: "I’m the man that took his arm after all, can’t say his temper is big news to me! You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen patients do… The things I’ve seen _him_ do."

"We’d love to hear all about that, doctor Devorak. I’m sure your profession makes for some interesting stories," Nadia said.

"For sure, Countess! I’m always happy to oblige and even happier to entertain!" 

"Our _dearest_ Count has a knack for _dramatics_ , much like _yourself_ , doctor 069. Wouldn’t you say? Always at the center stage," Valdemar meddled with that sinister tone of theirs that made everything they said sound like some sort of dark presage, Julian felt goosebumps creeping up his skin. "Makes one _wonder_ how the world doesn’t collapse when you two are in the same room, breathing the same air."

"Oh, whatever do you mean, quaestor? They seem to get along fine to me!" Volta interjected.

"I’m just surprised that it took this long for such _big_ personalities to clash, is all," they finished.

"Well, quaestor, it seems my bad name precedes me, but I’m actually quite even-tempered when it comes to patients," Julian argued. He felt a rare impulse to try and clear Lucio’s name as well. He might not be a saint, but he wouldn’t hear it from Valdemar of _all people_. "Besides, even if we did have a bit of an altercation earlier, he did apologize."

Everyone fell silent, some pieces of cutlery were dropped in expectation.

" _Who_?" spat Asra, breaking the silence. Valdemar let out a mildly amused laugh. 

"Lucio. He apologized to me. Kind of," he reiterated.

"He did _what?!_ " Valerius had to set down his glass in absolute disbelief.

"My husband did?" Nadia was, by far, the most shocked of them all.

"I too was appalled, milady. Thought I was dreaming even!"

"He’s not one for admitting faults, usually. It seems you’ll be a greater influence on him than I initially anticipated," she said in all honesty.


	5. Library Encounter

Julian was so absorbed in his papers that he did not note Lucio entering the library until his cold metal hand was on his back. He jumped, dropping his—thankfully—dry quill.

"Good _lord_ —!" He clutched his chest. "… Lucio! You scared the **living daylights out of me** **!"**

"Didn’t hear me come in?" the blond smirked unapologetically as he picked up the object. "Here." Their skin met when he handed it over. Lucio trapped one of Julian's fingers in his as he drew his hand back. There was something undoubtedly sensual about the touch, as light and fortuitous as it'd been. 

"Ah. Thank you." Julian flexed his hand as if he’d just been shocked, but a tingling sensation persisted. "What are _you_ doing _here_ , though?

"Thought I’d pay you a visit," he shrugged, seemingly mindful of his hand too.

"Well, I can see that, but I meant—you _shouldn’t_ be here, you’re bedridden."

"I’m in fine feather today… What's more, I’ve got something to discuss with Noddy. About the Masquerade," he said casually.

"The Masquerade? Don’t tell me you’re planning on hosting it despite—"

"Why, _yes_ _!_ I’m feeling pretty optimistic about it, actually," the blond shut him off.

"Lucio," he started tactfully. "You’re in no state for that."

"You said things were looking up for me, that I’m showing a lot of improvement," he reasoned as if he didn’t know his condition was terminal or how many lives it had claimed already.

"That’s true, but… this is no mere cold we’re talking about," he put forth tentatively.

"Enough of that, Jules. That’s what I’ve got you here for, isn’t it? You’ll find the remedy for me," the blond decided as if it was as easy as shelling peas. 

Julian sighed, knowing damn well that the Count wouldn’t be dissuaded. He would turn a blind eye to Death up till it was at his doorstep. What he hadn’t yet realized was that the keys were already dangling on its skeletal fingers.

"So, what are you working on?" Lucio leaned back on the shelf, clearly flirtatious.

"Um. I'm consulting scholarly articles on leeches… bloodletting… things like that. Nothing you _really_ want to hear about, I suppose?"

"Uhhh… yeah, no. Not really," he agreed. "Can I sit for a bit?" he asked, pointing at an armchair close by Julian's desk. 

"Are you not feeling well?" Julian turned, suddenly vigilant. 

"I'm fine." Julian scrutinized him. "Really! I'm curious about your work, is all. I won't make a noise, you won't even remember I'm here," he appealed. Julian somehow doubted it. 

"Be my guest. I don't see how watching me work could interest you, though."

"Oh, but it _does_." 

For the next twenty minutes Julian could feel Lucio's eyes boring a hole into the back of his neck. But to his credit, he did manage to keep quiet.

The blond watched attentively as the doctor twirled his unruly hair and occasionally bit his nails in concentration. He paid special attention to the expressions he made when a passage was particularly interesting or dense.

"You're going to get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that," he finally broke the silence. Julian let out a low cackle, his brows flattening. 

" _Really_ _?"_ he drawled. "How come your skin is so smooth if you're always pulling a face then?" 

Lucio's eyes shot up at the witty comeback and then burst out laughing. 

"That's a good one." He rose up and came closer to Julian. "It's the beauty sleep. If you were really wondering."

"Isn't that because it's all you do lately? Sleep?" he jumped on his case.

"Jules, you're so effortlessly offensive that I'm bent on calling it a natural born talent." Apparently not satisfied, he tilted Julian's chin with one golden finger to take a good look at his face. "You could use some. _Sleep_. Your dark circles have been getting darker by the hour."

"Uh—" 

They were looking at each other so vehemently that neither heard the door click.

"Ilya—" began Asra, raising his eyes from the scrolls he was carrying at the exact moment Julian turned his face away from Lucio. "Lucio?" 

The blond bit his cheek, still not taking his eyes off Julian, who had put some more distance between them by rocking his chair backwards. 

"Ah. _The magician returns to his lair."_

He tried to follow the exchange of glances between his employees with an amused expression, but he found it hard to when Julian's was painfully remorseful. Asra didn't show much emotion other than surprise. 

"Anything I could do for you, my lord?" Asra offered with a polite smile that didn't match his matte stare. 

"I don't think so. Possibly being at the workplace that was _generously_ provided to you would be a good start."

"Of course," he narrowed his eyes, his smile becoming even less genuine. 

"I'll leave you to your endeavors. Jules, don't be late to our appointment this evening. I don't take kindly to waiting." 

"Y-yes, sir." 

"Oh, and Asra? You'll read my cards, won't you?"

"Yes, sir." 

Lucio rearranged his sash and left. He felt uncomfortable around Asra and he was pretty sure Julian did too, albeit for entirely different reasons. He'd have to press the redhead on the matter when they were alone, but he could already feel the jealousy building up on his chest; inflexible and unwanted.


	6. Drunk Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Lucio drinks to cope.

"May I ask about the whereabouts of the Count?" Julian halted a servant that did not seem too occupied, it was busy in the palace as the sun settled. 

"Ah, doctor Devorak. His Highness dismissed the service for the day." Julian nodded as if prompting her to continue, not understanding the implications of her words. "I'm afraid that includes you," she concluded. 

"What?" he spat with stupefaction, Lucio of all people? Not wanting _his_ attention? That certainly was unlike him. "I'm his physician!" he exclaimed. 

"I take it no one informed you, then. He did specifically request for _you_ not to disturb him…" she looked away from him, flustered at the sudden assertive tone. 

"That is _odd_ ," he simply said. 

"I'm terribly sorry I can't be of more help, doctor. I should… get back to work." She scurried past him with an apologetic head bow. 

"Ah, sorry to keep you. Thank you for letting me know!" he called after her, but she was already gone. 

No news always meant bad news when it came to the capricious Count of Vesuvia. A dreadful feeling settled in Julian's gut as he hurried through the corridors of the palace, scanning every room for signs of his patient. In his condition, and on his own, he couldn't be roaming far. 

He headed back to Lucio's personal wing—where he had been looking prior to his conversation with the servant—and noticed the dampness in the air for the first time. Expecting to find him in his chambers, he hadn't even considered checking the bath. If the situation had been customary, two armed guards would be standing at the sides of the luxurious door. There weren't. Something was definitely off. 

He closed the distance between himself and the entrance with a few purposeful strides, not unlike his usual pace. He knocked out of politeness, but his resolution had been already taken; he'd let himself in with or without Lucio's approval. The lack of answer seemed to confirm his sneaking suspicion, but more than anything, it validated going against the Count's orders.

He stumbled into the room as a result of using too much force on the handle, but was cut short by the alarming scene that greeted him inside.

Lucio was laying clothless and unconscious on the floor, with his head to the side. His skin was as pale as if his blood had completely evaporated from his body, leaving no color behind. His wet hair adhered to his clammy forehead and cheekbones, obscuring his eyes and climbing into his slightly parted lips. Dry vomit and blood clinged to his nose, chin and throat and swept across the floor.

He noticed the intricate emerald bottle that was tightly secured in Lucio's hand and the several others like it that were scattered around him, but decided to ignore them for the moment; there would be plenty of time to scold him if he lived to tell the tale. Although Julian was not a believer, it had to be some sort of miracle that he hadn't choked to death. 

He rushed to his side with the learned instinct of a combat medic and kneeled down. His pulse was still there, albeit rather faint. He easily sat him up, lifting his head with gloved fingers; he could tell how cold he was even through the leather. He shook his shoulders and slapped him softly a couple of times in hopes that it would be enough to wake him up. To his relief, Lucio scrunched, eyes still shut. With a little more malice this time, he held out his hand for the bathing pool and splashed his face with water. That did the trick. 

The Count that came back to life was still unrecognizable. He slithered away from Julian's hold, refusing to open his eyes and pressing his face to the cold tiles. He curled up into a ball, holding the bottle with both hands as if he feared it would be taken from him. Julian let out a noise of disapproval, but allowed him to stay there nonetheless. 

"Lucio," he started as patiently as he could. 

"Leave me," he hissed from the ground. 

Julian considered hardening his tone, but decided against it as Lucio was clearly in an indisposed state of mind. He had to walk on toes around him if he didn't want him to snap. After all, he did not know if the effects of the alcohol would make it easier or harder to deal with him.

"I said _leave me_ ," he repeated, nearly snarling. To Julian's surprise, he broke into a ragged sob instead. And then another, and another. He had never seen the Count cry; not when he had been in excruciating pain because of the sickness, not even when he had amputated his arm that fateful day many years ago. Yet there he was, his face contorted in an unsightly bawl, his deteriorated body convulsing violently as he lost his remaining cool. He let go of the bottle to brace himself tightly. His shaky arm dug into his own skin. Weak as he was, it didn't draw blood. 

"I, uh—" Julian discovered he didn't know what to do or say mid sentence. Lucio's tearful blood injected eyes shot up at him, an emotion in his face he could not place.

"I specifically… I specifically asked for _you_ not to disturb me! I _ordered_ it!" Lucio slurred and groaned and reached for the bottle as if he was about to throw it at him, but let his hand drop instead, knocking it over and spilling its content on the floor. Another whimper left his mouth, it was full of resentment. 

"Good heavens, I'm your physician!" How many times would he have to state that? "I simply won't stand for my patient behaving so irresponsibly. Neither of us can afford it!"

"I'm in pain!" he practically yelled, clutching his chest and covering his face with his gauntlet, his usually calculated movements had become spasmodic. For a moment Julian worried that he'd accidentally pluck one of his eyes out. 

"If that's the case I can make you a tincture," he offered, although he was not sure if they were talking about the kind of pain that medicine could ease. 

"That's not… I don't…" he struggled to get the words out, the alcohol slowing down his mind. "Jules. I don't want anyone seeing me like _this_ ," he said above a whisper, as if he was using the last of his strength to say it. "I can't bear it." 

"This is unlike you. All of this…" he vaguely motioned at the mess on the ground, at the door, at Lucio. The point he was making left unsaid.

He rose from his position before he could answer. He picked up a cloth and scrounged down to prop Lucio up, dragging him closer to the bathing pool and gently wiping away the fluids that had gone untreated for long enough. He pushed the stray strands of hair aside to reveal a set of puffy red eyes, eyelids and eyebags folded into shallow wrinkles. There was no doubt that the man had been crying his heart out long before Julian had found him. 

"I'm dying. That _is_ unlike me," he returned bitterly. Julian could no longer brush off his worry, Lucio _never_ addressed his own mortality. "I can feel it, creeping up behind me. The clock—it-it—it ticks away. If I dare to sleep… I'm afraid it will claim me. _Death_. I can never be certain it hasn't already." 

A crazed look got ahold of his features, his eyes darted back and forth, searching for an imagined pursuer. He pathetically looked at Julian, ready to be mocked or cut off. When he wasn't, he turned to face the ceiling and continued. 

"I thought—I thought when Death caught up to me I'd face it front-to-front. I'd seen it so many times; eyes that lost their spark as they faded, bloodied corpses and fallen horses, blinding glints of metal… fires that leaped up to the grey skies, the suffocating smell of powder and putrefaction. The _silence_." Julian inclined his head knowingly at the words, it was a sight he too was familiar with. "I always pictured myself dying on the battlefield. Not in the tents, not in a bed, but fighting to my last breath. I'd be standing tall on my horse, a rose of blood flourishing on my chest like a mark of honor… There'd be pain. As there'd be glory."

"I could picture that," Julian said softly, reminiscing the magnificent presence that the mercenary come Count exhibited in combat. The latter smirked, air coming out of him with difficulty. Julian pinched his nose to clear it and a string of blood issued. 

"But _this_. This is no way to die. Undignified, like a rat scoffing at the light, helplessly postrated in bed for the rest of my life. Days… hours?" he gestured at nothing in particular. "When it takes me I'll be the shadow of a shadow of the man I once was… The memory I'll leave behind? That of a beast that had to be put down. Out of _misery_. You understand, don't you? You've _seen_ it happen."

"I have," he couldn't lie. As a plague doctor, Death trailed behind his every step. A memory of piles of bodies burning flashed red before his eyes. Lucio grimaced under his hands as if he could see it too, awfully quiet for a moment. "But I was less acquainted with the illness then, we all were. We will… I'm positive we'll find the cure. It just… it will take time." 

" _Time_ ," he laughed, an unnerving ring to it. 

"Hah, doesn't it seem so easy when I say it like that? Why, dear Count, you only need to outsmart Death at its game while we work tirelessly day and night! Easy as falling off a log for a man such as yourself!" He regretted his jest as soon as he started, but Lucio humored him, letting out a dry chuckle. He abruptly stopped when he realized Julian's eyes were on his, his gaze automatically traveling down to his lips and back up to his grey eyes. His expression shifted, as if he had been momentarily struck by clarity. 

"Doctor. I don't suppose you'll allow your most precious patient to freeze to death. On the floor. _Naked_ ," he tilted his brow, an amused drunken grin appearing as Julian became flustered. 

"O-Of course not, my lord," he stuttered. "As much as I did **_not_ ** grant said patient permission for emptying the palace's cellar like a drunkard pirate on a one hundredth day trip across the seas…" he swiftly recovered, feeling a grin of his own appear on his lips. 

"Oh, you insolent little…" he trailed off and smacked him in the shoulder, but Julian ignored him, plunging the piece of cloth into the warm water and resuming his cleaning duty. He rubbed his skin meticulously, but he needed Lucio to enter the pool so that he could rinse him properly and hopefully sober him up a little in the process. 

"Step into the bath." He offered his arm so that the other could lean on him and get up, but he sank to his knees the moment he tried to. "Bad idea! Please, allow me…" He slid his hand under Lucio's armpit, forcing him all the way up, his other hand in his waist for additional support. He guided him with slow steps and helped him rest on the coping of the large basin, water up to his shoulders. An uncharacteristic tenderness spread throughout him as he watched the blond push his head back at the pleasant temperature of the water. 

Speaking of which, his gloves and cloak were absolutely drenched, sticking and grinding against his skin uncomfortably. He wrestled to peel them off, grateful that Lucio wasn't his sharp self at the moment and couldn't tease him about it. 

"Think you’ll manage not drowning for one second? I’ll be back before you know it."

Lucio hummed, but Julian couldn’t be sure if he was listening anymore. He picked up a bucket, filled it with water and proceeded to clean up the disastrous aftermath of the Count’s drinking adventure. He pushed the empty bottles into a bundle, making a mental note to dispose of them later. A bubbling sound interrupted his thoughts, indicating that Lucio had—as a matter of fact— _not_ managed to keep his head above the water. It had been foolish of him to trust a drunk man with that in the first place. He rushed to his side and pulled him out with a tug. Lucio coughed up and stared at him like he was seeing his face for the first time. 

"Uh-oh?" he murmured stupidly.

"If it’s not you who dies tonight, it might be me. Mind you," Julian glowered.

"Are you angry at me?" Lucio asked with a naivety that was as genuine sounding as it was misplaced, considering how sneaky he’d been about the whole escapade.

"I lose sight of you for a few hours and I find you _passed out_ and drenched in sweat and blood from _head to toe_. What do you think?"

"You’re angry at me." 

"How acute of you!"

"I didn’t mean to anger you, I just—I _just_ , uh, just," he couldn’t find the appropriate words, so he just dropped the subject altogether. "This is very nice."

"Sure is. Come on now, I’ll wash your hair."

He ran his fingers through Lucio’s hair as he kept babbling nonsense. The bath had brought a little color to his face and he looked oddly good with his unkempt hair and swollen eyes. All of a sudden Julian felt regretful that he hadn’t soothed, but reprimanded him earlier. That wouldn't do. He faintly massaged Lucio’s temples and nose brick and tucked his bangs behind his ear affectionately.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, hand still on the other man’s face.

"This is very nice," he repeated.

"I know, but I’m asking about _you_ , not the bath," he smirked a little, smoothing one of Lucio’s eyebrows with his thumb.

"I’m exhausted," he said in all honesty. 

"Let’s get you out of here then, shall we?"

Lucio complained as he was pulled out of the pool, wrapped up in a semi transparent robe—because _of course_ it was—and lifted off the ground in a bridal carry without so much as a warning. He yelped and held on tight until Julian hastily dropped him on his bed.

" _Ow, Juuules!_ " he groaned.

"Be good," he answered as he rummaged about for a proper sleeping attire. Dressing him up was predictably difficult; Lucio was becoming whinier and clingier as the drunkenness stretched on. Julian jostled him out of his way to prepare him his medicine.

"What about me?" he slurred. 

"What about you?"

"I can’t sleep. The night terrors keep getting _worse_ ," he lamented.

"This will help," he pointed at the tincture. "Not with the hangover, you should have given that more thought."

Lucio pouted, rolling around in his bed and coming to a sudden stop when his face met the soft pillows. He buried his face appreciatively and pulled a bunch of blankets over himself. He sort of had the charm of a bratty child once he’s finally tamed and angelic after a day of playing around, Julian couldn’t hold back a smile.

"Stay with me?" Lucio squirmed to make some space.

"I have work to do, you know," he grumbled half-heartedly.

"Only until I fall asleep…?"

" _Fine_. Fine. Just let me—" Julian fumbled out of his uniform jacket ungracefully, tossed his boots aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "Should I tell you a bedtime story? Sing you a lullaby perhaps?" he raced through the words awkwardly. 

"Lay with me," he asked innocently. 

"I—ah—lay with you, you say?" Lucio nodded. "Uh, in bed?" He nodded again. 

"The nightmares," Lucio explained "Stay with me through them." 

Julian hesitated for a minute before he slid next to Lucio. They shared another hesitant look before Julian took the initiative and snuggled a bit closer. He could feel the anxiety lingering still in Lucio's rigid muscles and wide open eyes, he really must have been terrified of sleeping.

"Close your eyes and turn around, Lucio," he whispered. "I’ll be here."

"Even in the morning?" he doubled checked as he faced the other side reluctantly.

"Of course," he guaranteed. He pulled him into the tightest—most comforting—embrace he was capable of and heard a longing sigh in response.


	7. Crimson Sheets

Lucio barged into the library as he usually did, without a care or a knock. His eyes searched for something fleetingly before settling on Julian. 

"Ah—" 

"You missed yet another appointment of ours," he reproached. 

"My apologies, it must have slipped my mind. If you're not busy now I can be upstairs in a minute to make up for it…" Julian apologized.

In truth, he had been more or less actively avoiding the Count for a while. The way Lucio had lifted his face and the look they had shared at the library still had Julian wondering just _what_ would have _happened_ if Asra hadn't walked in; it had certainly felt like the build up for a kiss. There was also that night they had spent on each other's arms that Lucio probably didn't even remember about. Julian couldn't get those longing eyes out of his mind. 

But why _now?_ Now that everything was so complicated with Asra, now that he had finally given up his passing fancy for him. Because that's all it was, right? The remains of an unresolved infatuation from their youth. It had been intense for sure, but it wasn't meant to prosper. 

"That won't be necessary," his voice was cutting, more so than usual. "Where's Asra?" 

Julian involuntarily flinched. 

"I-I don't know," he stuttered. 

"Why cover for him? Is he lazing around _again?_ Taking a nap, perhaps? I don't see his creepy snake anywhere either." He took a step forward, making Julian recoil against his desk. There was a dangerous air around him that didn't go unnoticed. 

"I don't know where he went," Julian repeated, decidedly this time. He saw a shadow cross Lucio's face, like he was trying and failing to contain his anger. "He didn't tell me."

He closed off the distance between them and wrapped his fingers threateningly around his neck, but did not actually tighten his grip. Julian held his breath when Lucio's thumb found a love bite on his throat. 

"What's between you and him _anyway?_ Been meaning to ask," he leaned closer. 

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean?" Julian looked away, unable to control his expression or the blood rushing to his face. 

"Oh, don't you? I don't like how he treats you. Not at all," he said as he caressed his wrist. Julian felt effectively humiliated, so he knew about _that_ too. 

"I—"

"Do you think I don't see it? The _blood magic_. Why do you let him do as he _pleases_?" he demanded to know, finally releasing his neck. 

"That's—" he began, but he knew he wouldn't find a convincing answer. Especially not with Lucio's heat still lingering where he had grabbed him, his angered breath so close it pushed him to the brink of madness.

He turned to face him—perhaps trying to understand what was going through his head—and startled when the blond slid his fingers down the collar of his shirt, tugging at it to reveal more of his skin. Button by button, his eyes following curiously. 

Julian bit his lips as he reached his navel. His hips jerked forward on their own accord, he couldn't hide how much he wanted it. 

"Lucio… he might come back…" he heard himself say pathetically. 

"Would he mind this?" Lucio asked, lightly grazing Julian's hairy chest with one of his golden fingers. 

"N-no… _but I would_." 

Lucio noticed the hurt in his eyes and stopped abruptly. 

"Don't you want me?" he asked. He let his hand drop like a heavy weight and stepped back without waiting for an answer. Now it was him who averted Julian's eyes. "It seems I may have _misread_ the situation."

"Lucio, I—" He had to say something, _anything_. Lucio just frowned, an angry pink painting his cheeks. 

"Say no more. I pride myself in being a good lover. There's no point in dragging this any further if I was _mistaken_ …"

"Ah, I didn't mean to—"

"You seem busy, so I wouldn't want to interfere with your… work." His eyes were fixated on the little mark on his neck as he said this. Julian covered it up with a jittery hand and Lucio's lip rose in an obvious sign of disgust. "Don't forget why you're here, Jules. I'm not paying you to _fool around._ "

He strided out of the library without another word. 

Julian fell back onto his chair and brought a hand to his tousled shirt, still in shock. Had he just _rejected_ the man he'd been sighing over for _years?_ He tried to shake it off, but the disconcerment lingered still—an even more inconvenient feeling tugging at his pants. His face burned, both in humiliation _and_ lust. His mind was telling him that it had been the right call, but his body was already reminiscing the blond's touch and imagining those fingers curl up around him, his breath tickling his skin…

He fondled himself just as Lucio had—even grasping his own neck—but it wasn't nearly as satisfactory. Far from it, he felt despicable. Not enough to stop, but despicable all the same. Thankfully—for his conscience—a knock interrupted him. 

"Doctor? Are you in there? I brought the ingredients you asked for!"

He rushed to make himself presentable. 

* * *

It was about midday when Julian finally convinced himself to go to Lucio and actually do his job. He wasn't sure about what he'd say if confronted directly about their earlier encounter, so he spent some minutes trying to compose himself at his door. 

He knocked, but there was no answer. His curiosity got the best of him. He opened half-way just to make sure no one was inside and saw Lucio sleeping soundly on his armchair. His human arm was perched on his forehead, the other—naked of gold plating—was holding a book that attempted to slip out of his grasp every time he breathed. 

Julian found himself staring at his weaving torso. His shirt was loose and transparent enough to make out the shapes under it. His waist looked unfairly thin and his translucent skin proudly flashed the veins crawling under… 

"What the hell are you thinking, Julian?" he covered his mouth when he realized he was saying it out loud. He didn't trust himself not to say something equally stupid next. Or _worse._

 _"Out with it, all of you!_ **_Don't you know who I am?_ ** _The doctor! The doctor!"_

A human-like voice made him tumble and trip. He tried to hold onto one side of the door to break the fall, but ended up bumping his head loudly on the other. 

It was one of the Count's pet birds, Camio. He was circling the ceiling, still talking pure nonsense. Julian closed his eyes and massaged the soreness in his head away. Then he heard a thud and he didn't even have to look to know the book had finally escaped its prison. 

He shot a killing look at Camio and looked down to the chair. Two very much awake eyes were staring at the bird, then at him. 

"… Doctor…?" Lucio repeated in a dry—unused—voice.

" _Doctor! Doctor! Intruder! I won't stand for it!_ " the animal shouted as he landed on his owner's arm. Lucio didn't seem bothered by the fact that a set of sharp claws was digging on his bare flesh. Then again, he was clearly disoriented. 

"What's the meaning of this…?" 

"I, uh. Sorry? Didn't mean to wake you up." 

" _How dare you wake me up? You're dismissed!_ **_I should send you to the gallows!"_** Camio continued to shriek. Julian froze for a second, as did Lucio. 

"Will you shut up already, Camio! Just leave. _Go_!" 

He took flight, as prompted by the moving arm that was supporting him. His wings flapped against Julian's face as he flew off into the hallway. 

" _Ow_ ! Ouch. I hope you're not _actually_ sending me to the gallows?" he grinned as if the whole issue wasn't embarrassing enough. 

"I'm starting to see little reason not to," Lucio sighed, bringing a hand to his temple. When Julian gulped, he glared at him incredulously. "Of course **not** **,** you imbecile!" 

"Ah-hah. Ha ha. Of course! Obviously! You're _joking,_ " he forcibly laughed.

"You're bleeding," he observed. 

"Eh?" 

"You're bleeding, on your head. On the door…? What exactly were you doing?" 

Julian looked back and certainly enough there was blood where he had just slammed his head. On his fingers too. 

"You don't even want to know," he assured. 

"Well, I'm sure I don't. But you should take care of that, it doesn't look pretty." He rose from his seat and picked up the book before approaching Julian. 

"Oh, erm—" He straightened his back and turned crimson red when Lucio gently pushed his hair aside and pressed his sleeve against the wound. "You don't have to—" 

"So you'll bleed all over my room? _No_."

"But your shirt…"

"Oh, shut up, Jules! You're giving me a headache. You present yourself uninvited, wake me up, make a mess of everything and bleed on _my carpet?_ That's not even all of your offenses _today_ ," he scoffed at him. 

"About that, I—" 

"I don't want to hear it," he concluded, still putting pressure on his forehead. Julian figured it'd be wise to stop talking and not anger him any more. Or he would have if his head hadn't started spinning. 

"Uh-oh, I'm feeling quite—" he staggered backwards. 

"Careful—!" Lucio caught him on time. 

"It's—it's the blood loss, I'm getting… _dizzy_ ," he confessed, holding onto him for dear life. 

" _God, Jules_. Come lay down," he said as he guided him to his bed. 

"I couldn't— _possibly_ …" Julian shook his head vigorously. 

"Will you stop fussing already!" He pushed him into the huge mattress with decided sufferance. "Should I call for **_another_** doctor?" 

"Ah, please don't. It was just a silly little accident, I'll be fine in a minute," he requested embarrassedly. 

"Stay until you're better." Lucio ruffled his hair gently and started rummaging around Julian's stuff for something to cleanse him with. 

"Oh, you're going to—? It's as though we switched roles, I'm not used to being a patient!" Julian laughed.

"A feat on its own. I've never ever seen a surgeon so ungainly," Lucio offered Julian the hint of a smile—which made him feel indescribably relieved—and cared for him as best as he could. Surprisingly enough he wasn't _terribly_ unskilled. 

The mood soured as they realized they didn't have much—or really _anything_ —to talk about. Lucio wasn't making eye contact with him to begin with, but he seemed a tad _too_ focused on the spot on his forehead all of a sudden. His golden arm—the same that had unbuttoned Julian's shirt and stroked his chest, only now clawless—was stiffly gripping his own waist as if he dared not even come close. This, of course, made Julian feel a pang of guilt. 

"And… it's done."

"Thank you very much. I'm sorry for the—" He tried to sit up, but crumbled down. 

"Don't rush it. You can sit back for a bit… I don't mind," he said while _clearly_ minding. 

"Ah—if it's no bother," he accepted. It was not like he had any other choice. 

Lucio stood around awkwardly before finding something to busy himself with. He walked up to the door unprompted and started scrubbing the blood stain with the cloth he'd used on Julian. He never cleaned after himself—as one would expect from a Count—so the doctor stared stupefied as he did it for _him_.

"It's easier now that it's still— _not dry_ ," he rationalized. "Last time with the _leeches_ was a _disaster_ , so—I mean, that's what I heard from the servants." 

"Of course. I'm truly sorry for the—whole ordeal, really," Julian smiled apologetically. 

"Accidents happen," he shrugged.

Julian turned his face away when Lucio took off his bloodied shirt and changed into a clean one spontaneously. He saw him half-naked (or even fully naked) on the daily, but the circumstances made it a lot more significant this time. 

The blond sat back on his armchair when he was done and resumed reading the book from earlier. Julian had also _never_ seen him read. He realized he didn't see much of Lucio outside of their appointments and the occasional visits he paid him when he was feeling energetic enough. Julian was never the one to seek him out first. 

"Is something the matter? I figured you wouldn't want to engage in conversation since—" Julian's heart skipped a beat. "Well, since you're _dizzy_."

"Oh, no, no! Please do your thing! Don't pay me any mind, you already did so much for me—" Julian faced the ceiling of the bed to prove he could go without the attention. 

"Hm, if you say so." He went back to reading, or pretending to, for all Julian knew. 

So they would not be addressing what had happened in the morning at all. Julian _wanted_ to be relieved, but somehow he was disappointed. He stared at the red that seemed to seep into the room from every corner and clearly remembered seeing it in Lucio's bed at his tent all those years back. 

That fatally intense red was definitely a color he'd come to associate with him. The sheets smelled of him too. Julian wondered what waking up next to him would be like, to have his head full of thoughts of him and not feel dishonest in the slightest. Last time he had run away before Lucio opened his eyes, like the coward he was. 

"You didn't faint, did you?" Lucio's voice sounded distant, then too close. " _Jules_?" Julian opened his eyes to find a concerned red stare hovering over him. Lucio stepped back as soon as he did. 

"Ah! Sorry, I did not! Your bed is so comfortable that I couldn't help snoozing…" 

"You looked pale so I worried the injury was more severe than it looks."

"I'm feeling much— _much_ —better, actually!" This time he had no trouble sitting up and getting out of the bed. "Uh, I'm so very grateful for your generosity," he added as he smoothed the sheets. 

"You're leaving?"

"I'll—I'm terribly sorry about your treatment, but I don't think today is—" he excused himself, his feet already moving towards the door on their own. 

"It's fine." Lucio didn't move. 

"Is it really?" 

"Yes. In fact, I'm going to ask you to take the rest of the day off."

"And by ask you mean…"

"It's an order."

" _Oh_ , I—That's so kind of you, thank you."

"Take care," he bid him farewell from the distance and Julian could tell there were many things that he'd liked to say, but couldn't.

"You too…" he nodded. He stood hesitantly at the door for a second before disappearing into the hallway. 

* * *

The rest of the day was predictably uneventful for Julian, but luckily not enough to be able to mull over his fallout with Lucio (if he could even call it that). It was only when it got dark—in the safety of his covers—that he had time to think about him again. 

If he was to be truthful, he took a fancy to him and it was getting harder to pretend otherwise. Every time they were alone, he found himself expecting something to happen, yet when the signs were there he felt the urge to run away. In the end, there was a colossal gap between what he _desired_ and what he thought was _right_.

He wondered how it had come to this, to him being divided between two men that promised to be nothing but a heartache. He could not figure out what Asra wanted from him and it was often that he asked himself if it was love at all. Lucio, on the other hand… He was like an open book, contagious and uncomplicated. He made him feel wanted. And he undeniably wanted him back. 

He called to mind the warmth of his sheets, his scent, the curves and angles of his body that he'd seen and held tightly once. His hand and hair that still tingled on his fingers when he thought of them. His unblinking eyes that had looked at him with both worry and adoration. His claws that had been on his skin for an instant too short. And his lips that had been so close it was painful. 

Perhaps he could have had all of it, yet he had stupidly turned it down. So much for morals or guilt, he closed his eyes and slid his hand down the sheets. 


End file.
